Grudges
by Kjelle Sparks101 IV
Summary: He was afraid that Japan would hold one against him.


Last year on Aug. 6 I wrote a little oneshot about America and Japan and the bombing of Hiroshima so for this year I thought I would do the same. This story takes places a few months after the bombings.

By the way, the first story is called Little Boy.

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Grudges

He didn't hold grudges. He wasn't like the older nations that fought over things that happened centuries ago. Once he felt that he had his revenge he was done with it and ready to move on. But that was him and his problem was with those that held grudges.

Time doesn't heal all wounds. Fighting alongside his allies during that horrific war taught him that. That lesson was learned by watching France seethed with rage and burn with a desire to watch Germany and Prussia* burn and not because of the current situation. Lately he hasn't been getting along with Russia but he knew that he wasn't hated. Oh no, Russia's hatred was for Britain, again over pointless things that happened life times ago.

He wasn't like the older nations, far from them. By everyone's standards he should hate England for how he denied him his freedom and for burring his capital* but he didn't care. Sure the scar over his heart ached form time to time but when England had to swallow his pride to admit that he had lost made it okay.

He also felt that he did nothing deserving of someone's grudge. That was just his opinion and he knew that because England and Spain always brought up the past whenever they had the chance. And now he was afraid that he has earned himself the hatred of another.

…

He continues to stand in front of the door, staring. Oh, how he wish to return to Europe again and put off this visit. He has never really been fond of those in Europe and especially now with the chaos of the reconstruction but he would gladly choose that hell over the one he is going to face now.

Sighing, his mind urges him forward but his nerves hold him back. Slowly, so very slowly, he pushes the door open and walks in. Immediately he is bombarded by the powerful stench of ointments and incense. His nose burns but he ignores it because of it's the silence that is killing him.

_Stand strong and proud_, his mind tells him but his stomach has another plan. Right then and there he wants nothing more in life but to run out the room and head for the nearest trash can. Pushing the nausea aside he walks forward; his steps breaking the silence but increasing the pressure.

The sound his steps generate stops once he reaches his destination, the bed, and the silence returns with full force. He stares at the man, or more like the pile of bandages, that is laying in the bed. _Now I have become death, destroyer of worlds_*, that quote passes through his mind along with the question, _is he alive?_.

He can't move. He isn't even sure if he is breathing anymore. All he can do is just stare at the man. It feels like the weight of the world is on him, threatening to crush him at any moment. And he wishes that it would just hurry up and do it.

He had pride himself on being different from those in Europe. He was never covered in blood (with the exception of the Civil War), never truly oppressed another country*, and he never had to kill his own kind. But he changed because **he** forced him to change. That innocent life he loved is long gone.

_And you destroyed him. You are a murder._

His stare was met with a weak glare from the man lying on the bed. _I didn't kill him._ Relief washes over him like a tidal wave (but he doesn't show it). _No, you've done much worst_, his guilt chastises him, _He's going to suffer and it's all your fault. You are no better than those older nations._

It was deathly silent as his gaze was held captive by the weak glare. His guilt was eating him-suffocating him-and there was nothing he could do. He was at its cruel mercy.

_He deserved it!_ The rational part of his mind screams at him. _Remember what he did to China and to Philippines. Remember what he did to you. To your people!_

That's right; his crimes were server and deserving of the punishment. His anger returns and he met the glare with his own. The scowl that had planted itself on his face all throughout the war returns. He grits his teeth and balls his fist and his glare intensifies but the weaker man doesn't back down. His desire to hurt the Jap* to make him cry out in pain intensifies and as suddenly as it returned it vanishes.

He and his people don't hold grudges. Right now his soldiers-his people-were helping to rebuild the nation they devastated. They knew how to live and forget. It would take time but he was sure that someday that his people would get along greatly with those citizens of a former enemy.

He didn't hold grudges but he was afraid of those that held one against him. He didn't want another nation to hate him. He didn't want to continue to go to war over pointless things. His eyes soften revealing his weaker side that no other nation has ever seen before.

"Do you hate me?"

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So there it is. I like the first one much better. :/ I hope it wasn't too confusing.

Please review.

Throughout history France didn't get along with Germany and Prussia. They were enemies.

During the war of 1812 England burned the White House. It was actually Canadians but England was the one behind it.

The quote "I've become Death…" is from Julius Oppenheimer he was in charge of the Trinity Project, which made the atomic bombs.

Yes, the United States wasn't very kind to its colonies but compared to how Britain and France treated theirs, America was nice.

Jap is a derogatory term that Americans used during the war. Please don't call anyone that.


End file.
